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The Gospel According to St. Matthew
Pier Paolo Pasolini considered himself a poet first and a filmmaker second. Understanding this simple fact will make the greatness of The Gospel According to St. Matthew clear. Strip away all other knowledge of the man. Forget that he was an atheist, a Marxist, and a homosexual. Consider him as simply a poet, translating the Gospel of Matthew on the screen without the use of a script and simply following an open Bible. Consider the text that he had to work with—mainly a series of teachings with little concern for narrative structure or character development. Now, consider how magnificently Pasolini pulled off this seemingly impossible task. The Gospel According to St. Matthew (this is the English translation, and Pasolini was not happy with the inclusion of the word “Saint”) is, quite simply, a splendid film that takes Christ and his ministry seriously, and one that moves effortlessly like poetry from scene to scene. This is not a cinematic interpretation of the life of Christ. It is the life of Christ as mood and as atmosphere, made with simple storytelling devices. Pasolini does not bother with exposition explaining the political or social situations during Christ’s era. He does not try to understand the motivations behind the characters. He simply films the Gospel of Matthew using simple camera effects and coating the entirety of the screen with a fluid-like movement that sets this film apart from any other Biblical film ever made. If you do not know the story of Christ, this is not the film to start with, because it does not explain the characters or the story in the way that a narrative would. But if you are familiar with the Gospels, then Pasolini’s film will be a revelation: By converting Christ’s story into moving poetry, it has never seemed as profound, nor Christ’s teachings as beautiful. This fluid-like style means an absence of typical cinematic gimmicks. We are never given any special effects (with the notable exception of Chirst walking on water, which is vastly underplayed). When God speaks, there is no imagery—He simply speaks from the heavens, and the characters turn their faces upward to listen. In addition, all the miracles are handled with such simple storytelling methods that we wonder how they could have ever been represented in any other way. We are given long, unbroken shots of weeping, mourning villagers. A close-up of Christ’s face follows, and he slowly looks up to heaven. Then, the weeping stops, and it is replaced by long, unbroken shots of the former mourners smiling peacefully at Christ. He smiles back and moves on. In another scene, we follow a leper in an unbroken shot, the camera focused on his hideous face. He approaches Jesus and says, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” The camera turns to Jesus, who answers, “I am willing. Be clean.” We return to the leper, whose face is completely cured. He smiles. Jesus smiles back. As I have indicated, much of Pasolini’s method involves long, unbroken shots, close-ups, and facial expressions. Most of the film is shot in this way. Pasolini does not have a narrator who guides us through the story—he simply uses the dialogue from the Gospel. Because Matthew’s Gospel does not have much explanation within its dialogue, Pasolini creates explanations and motivations in his characters through the looks on their faces. Consider the opening scene, in which we are given a close-up of the Virgin Mary (Margherita Caruso), who stares almost dream-like into the distance. Next, we see a close up of Joseph (Marcello Morante), whose face is twitching with confusion and horror. We linger here for a long moment, and Pasolini follows the close-up with a long shot of Mary, who we realize is pregnant. With these simple shots, we understand who these characters are and why they appear troubled, and a slow-motion, trance-like haze is placed over the film that never leaves. It is not, however, the characters and actors who are in a trance, but us, as we find ourselves completely mesmerized with Pasolini’s unique and completely appropriate filmmaking style. Unique because he is able to convey so much with so little; appropriate because such subtlety has never before been given to Christ’s story, and it demonstrates how thoughtful and delicately spiritual the world in which Christ inhabits truly is. Pasolini uses a cast of amateurs (including his own mother in the role of an older Virgin Mary), and they demonstrate quiet mannerisms that compliment the director’s poetic style without distracting us with familiar faces. Enrique Irazoqui was a college student who Pasolini found sitting in his garden, and he immediately cast him in the role of Christ. At first glance, this Christ is a simple, traditional rendition of the Good Teacher, with healing hands, a love for humanity, and with an emphasis on his divinity and sacrifice. But look closer. Watch the way he paces in the Garden of Gethsemane, or the way he constantly walks, only turning occasionally to look behind him at his disciples. Consider the way that he spouts the scriptures, as if carrying out his actions while mentally running down a check-list of prophecies that he needs to fulfill. Consider the close-ups of his face, in which he speaks with authority and persistence with only concern for his message, not in the nature of the man delivering it. This is not the traditional Christ that we have seen in Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth or in Hollywood’s The Greatest Story Ever Told, whose foremost emphasis were on the divinity and sacrifice of Christ, with his message in tow. Here is a man with a message that he feels is so important and so urgent that he would have preached it whether he was the Son of God or not. For Pasolini, Christ’s divinity comes second, and his words come first. Thus, the trial and crucifixion are decidedly rushed, and just as they begin, Pasolini fast-forwards us to the Great Commission. Thus, Pasolini clearly argues here that it is the revolutionary teachings of Christ that made his life the greatest story ever told, not his death and resurrection. In fact, all references to the significance of the cross have been omitted, so that when Christ proclaims, “Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” he means here and now, not in reference to his later sacrifice on the cross. Because of this, I suppose that we are forced to consider Pasolini’s personal Marxism and atheism when viewing the film, though it is certainly not a first priority. It is important to note that when the film was first released, many Marxists disowned Pasolini for making such a boldly religious film, and most Christians emphatically embraced his film. Still, his Christ certainly has the traces of a revolutionary: He is a man of the people, speaking for them in the face of oppression. When Christ turns over the corrupt money-changers in the temple who bleed the commoners dry of their earnings, he is heralded by peasants, who only then welcome him into Jerusalem with palm-leaves. In many scenes featuring Christ’s teachings, we only hear him, and Pasolini lingers on the peasants and sick who listen. Christ’s trial takes place at a distance, with the camera behind the helpless peasants who look on, watching their Master suffer at unrighteous leadership. At the news of his resurrection, it is common peasants who herald his return and run towards him. The fact that Pasolini filmed in Italy and used genuine locals for extras cannot also be denied; Christ’s message here is just as political as it is spiritual, and when he hisses, “Heathens!” at the Pharisees, the fact that he is surrounded by sick, poverty-stricken villagers forces us to consider his rage on more than one level. Not to say that Pasolini is twisting the Gospel to correspond with his own agenda; indeed, many scholars and theologians have read a political subtext in Christ’s teachings. When he states, “It is almost impossible for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” it is difficult not to. Pasolini is simply emphasizing on this often overlooked aspect of Christ’s teachings. Even though the words might agree with his personal political stances, it does not overtly support them. Rather than search for Pasolini’s political agenda in The Gospel According to St. Matthew, it is best to consider the film as a poet’s response to literature that has deeply moved him. Pasolini was inspired to make this film after finding a bible in a hotel room and reading through the book of Matthew. In his own words, Pasolini admitted to his “tendency to see something sacred and mythic and epic in everything,” and he called his film a “maximum of the mythic and epic” (Pasolini on Pasolini, Indiana University Press, p 77). On that note, the atheist director treats the life as Christ with the utmost respect as a work of mythic fiction, and if his personal morals and politics eventually bleed through the lines, this is only because great literature has survived because it gives the reader the ability to hold it up to themselves as a mirror, where it reflects their very thoughts and experiences. Though the man was not a believer, Pasolini’s Christ was nevertheless a very personal one, featured in a very devout film that has yet to be equaled in its bold, refreshing retelling of a familiar story. Click
here to to learn about the many cinematic faces of Christ.
Cast: An Arco Film release. Directed and adapted by Pier Paolo Pasolini, from the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. No M.P.A.A. rating, but suitable for children. Running time: 136 minutes. Original year of release: 1964. Italian with English subtitles (please, please watch the subtitled version, and not the dubbed edition).
Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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